


If You Ever Want to Be in Love (I'll Come Around)

by serenelystrange



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, but have a dumb fic!, i don't even know what i'm doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 12:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: In which Hardison finds himself falling for both the quiet but charming baker, and for the quirky ice cream shop owner that works on the other side of the street. The only problem is, he can't seem to make either one of them realize how perfect they could be together, until he bites off more than he can chew!*





	If You Ever Want to Be in Love (I'll Come Around)

“What the hell is it this time?!” Eliot rants to himself as he peers out the window of his empty bakery.

The tiny ice cream shop directly across the street from his has a line out the door and around the corner, the patrons looking cheerful despite the ever-present Portland rain. Eliot fumes silently and goes back to his counter to angrily scrub at some nonexistent dirt.

“Freaking _millennials_ ” he huffs, still huffing as the door to the shop chimes as it opens. The pleasant tinkering grates on his already frazzled nerves. He’s halfway to adding a scowl to his huffing when he notices who it is that’s walked in. And suddenly he can’t help but smile as he walks to the counter.

Alec “my friends call me Hardison, man” Hardison, Eliot’s semi-regular patron for the past year, and his probable soulmate. If only he had the courage to ask the other man out.

“Hey, man,” Hardison says, coming up and leaning his elbows down on the excessively shined counter and giving Eliot a grin.

“Hey,” Eliot parrots, biting his tongue before he can comment on how nice Hardison’s new cardigan looks on him. Or that he knows it’s a new cardigan. Or that he has a mental catalogue of pretty much all of Hardison’s closet. Except whether or not the man himself is in it. It’s a problem.

Hardison, to his credit, doesn’t seem to notice, and instead looks up at the menu’s sparse selection, as if he doesn’t end up getting the same blueberry muffins every time he comes in.

“Lemon cookies, right?” Eliot tries for a joke, lips curling into just the tiniest bit of a smirk.

Hardison goes to correct him for a second before stopping and bursting into laughter for a few glorious seconds. Eliot is, sufficed to say, delighted.

“You got me,” he admits. “Just my regular blueberry muffins, please.”

 _I wish I had you._ Eliot thinks to himself.

“Coming right up,” he says out loud, packing the four muffins up nicely in a box and bag and shifting over to the register so Hardison can pay.

“You cave and get that Apple Pay yet?” Hardison teases, looking down at the little card machine that’s at least 10 years old.

“You’re lucky I even take cards,” Eliot says, pointing a finger at Hardison grumpily. “We don’t need more hipster bullshit on this block.”

Hardison laughs again and clutches a hand to his chest dramatically.

“You wound me, man! Hipster bullshit is basically my entire life.”

“I will ban you from my shop,” Eliot replies, trying his best to scowl.

“No you won’t,” Hardison says, easily. He doesn’t sound even the least bit concerned.

Eliot is so screwed. And not in the good way.

“No, I won’t,” he admits. “You’re my best customer, even if you are a hipster millennial who wears glasses with no lenses.”

Hardison snorts. “That was ONE time. And it was Halloween.”

“What were you supposed to be?” Eliot challenges. He remembers Hardison had been wearing a dark grey sweater and tight jeans, definitely not a costume.

“….Near sighted?” Hardison tries, before laughing and giving up.

“Alright, you caught me. I just wanted to see how they’d look.”

“They looked good,” Eliot says before he can stop himself, and immediately feels his cheeks go red.

Hardison, however, just looks down at him, pleased.

“Thanks, man! Parker thought so, too. But then she kept trying to throw m&m’s into them, and I had to take them off. Because I value my eyes not being poked out by high velocity milk chocolate.”

There’s a pause in which Eliot distantly realizes he should be laughing, but his brain is stuck on the previous sentence

“Parker?” he says, aiming for pleasant and curious instead of envious, and coming out somewhere in the vicinity of gruff. It will have to do.

“Yeah,” Hardison says, taking his bag from Eliot’s suddenly tight grip. “She’s the one responsible for that crazy line outside. Blonde, kinda tall, real cute. You know her?”

“No,” Eliot says, and this time he can’t keep the scowl from his face.

“Shit, that was rude, huh?” Hardison says. “I shouldn’t be talking about the competition, I guess. Sorry.”

“Competition?” Eliot looks up, startled. Is this Parker girl competition for Hardison? Does Hardison somehow know how Eliot feels?

“I mean, I guess not directly,” Hardison says, because you don’t sell ice cream, and she doesn’t sell anything but ice cream. But still, that was kind of rude. Sorry.”

Eliot breathes a sigh of relief, and forces the scowl from his face.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says. “I’m doing just fine.”

“I keep the blueberry muffin demand up, at least,” Hardison agrees, grinning.

“Like I said, you’re probably my best customer,” Eliot says.

“And your favorite, obviously,” Hardison adds, throwing a five into the tip jar before Eliot can stop him. Again.

Eliot just raises one eyebrow somehow sarcastically and says nothing.

“Do I at least make the top 5?” Hardison asks, and Eliot can’t help but think he hears a little bit of hopefulness in his voice.

“Top three,” Eliot says, finally. “Depends on the day and how hopped up on sugar you are before you even get here.”

“Who are these other two?” Hardison asks, mock-outraged. “I’m gonna fight them! Or at least give them a nasty computer virus. Are they cute girls? I bet they’re cute girls. Redheads. You look like you’d like cute readheads.”

Eliot curses silently and thinks of his most recent one night stand, the fiery in every sense of the word barkeep, Cora. But damn it, just because he likes small redheaded women doesn’t mean he can’t also like tall black men with bodies he’d really REALLY like to climb one of these days. If he could just get the words out of his mouth.

“Not exclusively,” he settles on, chickening out at the last second. Again.

“Mhm,” Hardison says, snickering before catching a glimpse of the clock on the wall.

“Crap, I gotta get going,” he says apologetically, sticking the box of muffins carefully into his messenger back and heading for the door.

“See you Wednesday!” Eliot calls out as Hardison is halfway out the door, cringing when he realizes how stalker-y that sounds.

“It’s a date!” Hardison says, easily, tossing him one last smile and wave before disappearing from view.

“I wish,” Eliot whispers to himself when he’s sure that Hardison is truly out of hearing range. He thuds his head down against the counter a few times for good measure. He thinks maybe it’ll rattle some courage into his stupid brain.

.

.

“Hardison!”

He looks up at the exclamation and grins back at Parker from where she’s perched on a stool behind the counter, her long legs folded gracefully beneath her.

“What you got for me today, little mama?” he asks, eyeing the concoction in a glass on the counter with equal parts interest and caution.

Parker rolls her eyes at the nickname but beckons him forward with wiggling fingers. The shop is actually empty for one, but Hardison knows that the quiet and calm never lasts too long.

When he reaches the counter, Parker shoves the glass at him.

“Open up,” she says, poking his face with the thick rainbow-striped straw.

The fact that Hardison does so without question tells him more about himself and his little crush on Parker than he cares to admit.

“Suck,” she says, completely serious, jiggling the glass impatiently.

Hardison would call her out on her phrasing, but his mouth is occupied at the moment. He takes a long sip, eyes widening at the strong burst of flavor that explodes in his mouth once the shock of _cold cold cold_ has passed.

“This is amazing,” he says. Practically moans, really, but he tries to keep it to a minimum.

“Right?” Parker grins. “It looks a little ugly, but it tastes so good!”

Hardison just takes another long sip before putting the glass down and nodding in agreement.

“What all is in it?” he asks, watching the glass slowly turn a murky brown color.

“It’s basically a root beer float,” Parker says. “Except with orange soda instead of root beer. And chocolate ice cream instead of vanilla. And gummy frogs instead of… no gummy frogs.”

“So, it’s not a root beer float at all, then,” Hardison says, laughing.

“Shut up,” Parker says, smacking Hardison on the shoulder, frankly harder than necessary.

“Damn your ice cream scooping muscles, woman!” Hardison snarks, running his shoulder idly.

“Real men aren’t intimidated by strong women,” Parker says primly, holding a serious face before breaking out into snickers. “At least that’s what Sophie is always telling me.”

“You’re intimidating in the best way,” Hardison assures her, “and I have zero problem with it. But I have to ask, Sophie? Who is she, like Oprah for white people?”

“Ha!” Parker laughs, shaking her head and grabbing the glass to take a gulp of the float for herself.

“She’s my boss. Kind of. She owns this place, but doesn’t really care what I do with it as long as I don’t run it into the ground. She lives in London most of the time anyway. And has more money than she knows what to do with.”

“Long-distance benefactor,” Hardison says, nodding sagely, “nice.”

“I keep telling her she must be doing it wrong if she can’t spend her money,” Parker says, “but she won’t let me spend it for her if it’s not for the shop.”

“The audacity,” Hardison teases dryly.

Parker just nods in agreement.

“I’m thinking of adding a jukebox,” she says, gesturing toward an empty-ish patch of wall. “But it will only play Polka music.”

“Ok, I’m with you,” Hardison says, “but hear me out….why Polka?”

“To go with my new flavor, obviously,” she replies, pointing to the bright yellow “new flavors” sign.

“Weird Al-mond Joy” Hardison reads out loud. “That sounds…interesting.”

“It has sprinkles!” Parker says excitedly, fully prepared to grab a sample for Hardison when the door opens and a familiar sounding _dun dun_ sounds.

“Is that the noise from Law and Order?” Hardison asks. “That wasn’t here last time. And also, probably violates some sort of copyright law.”

“Yes. It’s new. And I don’t care,” Parker answers in rapid succession. “Now, please move so I can feed this group of schoolchildren too much sugar!”

“I’ll be back on Friday!” Hardison says, stepping around the sudden swarm of eight year olds.

Parker just waves goodbye as he walks away, her counter already completely overtaken by the excited children.

Hardison just laughs and gets out of there as fast as he can, before he gets tramples by hungry pre-pubescents.

.

.

“Nobody cares, you know.”

Eliot looks over to his lone patron, who has suddenly decided to start talking at him.

“What are you going on about, Nate?”

“That you’re gay,” Nate says, taking a sip from his coffee thermos.

Eliot doesn’t even sell coffee, Nate freaking Ford brings his own.

“I’m not… what are you even… what do you…I’m not gay,” Eliot stutters, cussing himself out silently at his rambling. He mastered the “straight act” years ago, for heaven’s sake.

“Bi, then,” Nate says. “Or Pansexual, or whatever else is PC these days. Whatever. Point is, nobody cares.”

“Then why do you feel the need to be telling me this?” Eliot says, glaring at Nate. The effect is somewhat lessened by the frizzy halo of hair falling over his face. Damn the hot and humid oven!

“Because you’re obviously in love with that I.T. kid that comes in almost every day,” Nate says, shrugging. “I saw you googling what Apple Pay was the other day. From your desktop computer. In 2017.”

“Ugh,” Eliot says, because really. What even is his life right now?

“You’re in over your head, kid,” Nate says, flipping the page on his novel with deliberately slow emphasis. “But I guess that’s none of my business.”

Eliot takes a moment to consider his options. On the one hand, he could ignore Nate and go back to hiding in his metaphorical closet, and in his literal kitchen. He’s comfortable enough in both. On the other hand…Nate is right there, offering him an in if he wants it. And for all of the smug superiority that Nate exudes naturally, Eliot knows that he honestly could not care less about where Eliot falls on the wobbly spectrum of sexuality.

He takes a breath and spares a glance to the door to make sure nobody is coming in, before settling in the chair across from Nate and crossing sighing.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he says, finally.

Nate just laughs. Which Eliot supposed is fair enough.

“You don’t get to be gay where I grew up,” Eliot says. “You like football, and women, and beer. If you don’t, you get your ass kicked. And if you get strong enough to defend yourself, they just come at you in groups.”

Nate nods, smirk replaced with an unexpected expression of sincerity.

“It’s better now, I guess,” Eliot says, shrugging. “I haven’t been home in a long time, but I hear it’s better than it was.”

“Not a high bar to jump over,” Nate says.

Eliot snorts out a laugh at that. He’s not wrong.

“Flirting with women is easy,” Eliot explains, ignoring the way Nate rolls his eyes.

“I just mean I know what I’m doing,” Eliot says. “You smile, say nice things, treat them with basic human respect, and they at least give you a chance.”

“And men don’t?” Nate asks. “Being a decent person seems like a good starting point, regardless of gender, I think.”

Eliot sighs again pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a mighty headache coming on.

“It’s just…I’ve been pushing all of that down so long that I don’t know how to tell if a guy is interested. Or even if they’re into men. Or if I’m gonna end up in a fist fight because some asshole decides to “teach the homo a lesson.”

“Pretty sure you can take care of yourself,” Nate says.

“Not the point,” Eliot says.

Nate just waves a hand at him, signaling him to go on.

Eliot continues. “I mean, I lived down in L.A. a while, fooled around, you know?”

Nate nods.

“The hookups weren’t ever serious, it was just fun. So I never worried about it.”

“But?” Nate prompts, somehow managing to look caring and disinterested at the same time.

“But I’m getting older,” Eliot says. “I’m in my thirties and thinking about how I might actually want to get hitched one of these days. Or at least find someone for the long haul. Buy a house, get a few dogs. Quit living above my shop like a loser. Maybe start a vegetable garden.”

“Maybe start with dinner,” Nate suggests dryly.

Eliot just glares.

“That’s the thing. I start thinking ‘what if I just ask him to dinner?’ And then if he somehow says yes, and doesn’t want to punch me, I actually have to go to dinner. And talk. And wear a button up shirt. And then comes the ‘what are we?’ talk, and me wondering how the hell I’m going to tell my mama that I’m dating a man. And then assuming she doesn’t disown me, I’ll have to change my Facebook relationship status. Oh god, I’m going to have to get a Facebook. That’s still a thing, right?”

Eliot takes another deep breath and looks back up at Nate, who is staring at him with a fascinated sort of horror on his face.

“I don’t even know where to start with that,” Nate says.

“You think I do?!” Eliot exclaims, slumping down further in his chair.

“Ok,” Nate says, “here’s what we’re going to do.”

Eliot waits while Nate finishes off the rest of his coffee before continuing.

“We’re going to head over to the bar.”

“And?” Eliot asks.

Nate just looks at him and shrugs.

“And drink,” he says. “I’m an insurance inspector, not a therapist.”

Eliot groans, but gets ready to lock up anyway. He just really hopes Cora isn’t working tonight.

.

.

“You ask that pretty, white boy out yet?”

“No, Nana!”

“How about that ice cream girl?”

“No, Nana!”

Hardison rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, where his Nana is yelling through the upstairs floorboards.

“I want grandbabies, Alec!”

“Nana!”

Hardison mutters to himself. His Nana has seven natural born children and has had dozens of foster kids over the years, but she acts like he’s the only one who could possibly have a child.

“Don’t you sass me, young man! Just cuz I can’t hear you doesn’t mean I don’t know!”

Hardison freezes and glares up at the ceiling with fond exasperation.

“Sorry, Nana!”

.

.

It’s by chance that Eliot sees Hardison on a Tuesday. He’s just grabbed a coffee from the café a few buildings down and is headed back to his own shop when he spots Hardison coming out of the ice cream shop across the street. The one that belongs to the “real cute” blonde, Parker. Eliot ducks his head and hurries back to his own store, but not before getting a glance of a large orange monstrosity of a drink in Hardison’s hand. He can’t help but wonder if it’s more the drink or the girl that has Hardison looking so happy leaving the shop.

.

Nate’s waiting for him at the door as he gets there.

“Don’t you ever actually work?” he asks, still a little annoyed with Nate for making him spill out feelings and then getting him drunker than he’d been in years.

Nate shrugs, raising his eyebrows above his dark sunglasses and taking a sip from his ever-present coffee mug.

“I have a flexible schedule,” he says. “And your scones go well with my coffee.”

Eliot rolls his eyes as he unlocks the bakery, but waves Nate to go and settle at his usual table so he can get the orange cranberry scone warmed up and plated for him.

“You think I should get a coffee machine?” Eliot asks, as he puts Nate’s plate down in front of him.

“People do like coffee,” Nate says, noncommittally.

“It does go well with my scones,” Eliot considers.

“Just get one of those fancy Keurig things,” Nate says. “That way people can just do it themselves.”

Eliot pauses, thinking back to what he’s heard about the machines.

“Those are the little cups, right?”

Nate nods.

“They’re supposed to be terrible for the environment,” he says, frowning.

“Actually,” a new voice breaks into their conversation. “They have recyclable cups now. Much better for the earth. Relatively, of course.”

They both look up at the woman who somehow got into the shop without either of them noticing.

She’s tall in her heels and exquisitely put together, with shiny black hair sleekly cut just past her chin.

“Can I help you, Ms…?” Eliot asks, straightening up and putting on his business demeanor.

“Devereaux,” she supplies, her voice low but pleasant, English accent charmingly apparent.

“Welcome, Ms. Devereaux,” Eliot says, gesturing towards the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“Well,” she says, “I was hoping for some coffee, but it appears I’ve arrived too soon for that. How about I try one of those blueberry muffins instead? Actually, make that two. To go.”

“Coming right up,” Eliot says, and gets the order ready as quickly as he can, feeling an inexplicable urge to be proven worthy under her kohl rimmed gaze.

“Have a lovely day,” she says as she takes her bag from Eliot and heads out the door.

“You, too,” Eliot calls out belatedly as the door clicks shut.

He turns to Nate, who is unashamedly still watching Ms. Devereaux’s backside as she walks away.

“Wait,” he says, frowning as Nate finally looks away from the door and back at him.

“She didn’t even pay!” Eliot says, exasperated at himself.

Nate just laughs, takes a breath, and keeps right on laughing.

“She’s probably never paid for a thing in her life,” Nate says, once he’s finally stopped laughing.

Eliot snorts in agreement before catching the wistful look on Nate’s face.

“Pretty sure women like that don’t give middle aged insurance inspectors the time of day,” he warns.

“Lucky for me,” Nate says, “I already have a watch.”

Eliot just groans.

.

.

“Oh?” Eliot asks, smiling politely as Hardison goes on and on and _on_ about how great the root beer minus the root beer float that Parker made was.

“Yeah,” Hardison says, “It was like on one those chocolate oranges you get at Christmas, you know the ones?”

“With the foil, right?” Eliot asks, making a thwaping motion on the counter as if he was splitting the treat open.

“Exactly!” Hardison says.

He’s in a long sleeved white t-shirt today, and has a jaunty green scarf around his neck, adorned with what Eliot is pretty sure is a video game character, but he has no idea which one of the many he’s heard Hardison ramble about that it could be.

“Hey,” Hardison says, drawing Eliot’s attention away from the attractive muscles of his chest to his even more attractive face.

“Yeah?” Eliot asks.

Hardison looks uncharacteristically nervous, now that Eliot is looking at his face properly. It sends him immediately into an internal tizzy. What if this is the day that Hardison tells him that he’s running off with someone else and they’re the jealous type. Or worse, gluten-free.

Outwardly, he just tries to appear as neutral as possible.

“What is it?” he asks, when Hardison still hasn’t spoken a few long moments later.

“You grew up on a ranch, right?” Hardison asks. And that…is not even close to anything Eliot expected.

He grins, absurdly pleased that Hardison remembered something about him that he’s sure that he only mentioned in person.

“Sure did,” Eliot replies, albeit a little belatedly. “Why?”

“So you probably know how to ride a horse, right?”

“I do,” Eliot says, wrinkling his brow in confusion but waiting Hardison out.

“You think maybe…” Hardison starts, ducking his head adorably, “Maybe you can teach me how to ride?”

Eliot’s eyes go wide as the rest of his body processes the words, the lower half of his body significantly more interested than the upper region all of a sudden. He’s silent for so long that Hardison starts to look a little bit crestfallen.

“El?” he asks, “you with me?”

“Definitely,” Eliot says automatically. “I mean, I,” he stammers, “I can definitely teach you. I have some friends out in the country with good horses for beginners if you don’t have anywhere picked out already.”

Hardison grins, that extra joyful smile that lights up his whole face and makes Eliot’s heart do little flips in his chest. Metaphorically, of course. He hopes.

“That was going to be my next question,” Hardison says. “I want to learn, but I wasn’t even sure where to start. But I figured the Cupcake Cowboy would be able to point me in the right direction?”

Eliot snorts, “Cupcake Cowboy?”

“Would you prefer Bolero Baker? Ooh, maybe the Lone Baker? Like the Lone Ranger, get it?”

“You really should be nicer to your elders,” Eliot teases, “Especially the ones who are being so kind as to teach your city ass how to ride a horse.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Hardison snarks back, throwing Eliot a mock salute.

Eliot absolutely does not have any sort of physical reaction to that, especially in his already restricted jeans. Absolutely not.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, even if it comes out as more of a whimper than he was intending.

“Here,” Hardison says, making grabby hands at Eliot’s cell phone where it’s lying near the register.

Eliot hands it over and can’t help but blush when he sees Hardison’s eyes go wide as he takes it.

“Eliot?” Hardison asks, eyebrows damn near his hairline. “Is this an honest to God flip-phone? Am I suddenly back in 2004? How is this thing even still running?!”

Eliot glares, before breaking underneath Hardison stupid gorgeous face and answering anyway.

“I buy new batteries for it on Ebay,” he replies, crossing his arms against his chest defensively.

Hardison is predictably, gobsmacked. He looks up at the ceiling as if it will give him answers to the mystery that is Eliot Spencer.

“The man uses Ebay, but can’t buy himself a damn smart phone. How can that even be?”

“I don’t think the ceiling is gonna answer you,” Eliot says, rolling his eyes.

Hardison narrows his eyes accusingly, “I bet you still have dial-up. Oh god, I bet your porn takes hours to load!”

“Hardison!” Eliot exclaims, looking around just in case any other customers have come in when he was distracted by Hardison’s everything.

“Sorry, man,” Hardison says, “I got carried away. Here, I put my number in. Text me later and we can figure out the horse thing.”

Eliot hesitates for just a moment too long when taking back his phone, which Hardison does not miss.

“You can’t text, can you?” he asks, already sighing.

“My phone makes phone calls, like a phone should,” Eliot says, raising an eyebrow at Hardison defiantly.

Hardison just laughs helplessly, but more than a little fondly, Eliot can’t help but notice.

“Call me, then,” he says, still shaking his head in amusement. “I can even wait until after 9 when your nighttime minutes are free.”

“Get out of my shop,” Eliot grumbles, pushing the bag of goodies Hardison ordered an hour ago towards him.

Hardison is still laughing as he leaves, and Eliot wishes he could find it in himself to be even the least bit offended. Instead, he just smiles to himself, skin practically buzzing with the fact that he now not only has Hardison’s number, but was given direct permission to call him. He can hardly wait until nine o’clock.

.

.

As it turns out, Eliot doesn’t get to call Hardison until nearly ten o’clock. The conversation with his friends in the country takes a lot longer than he anticipates, and before he knows it, he’s agreeing to spend a few days of vacation out at the farm with Miriam and John later that month.

“We still owe you for all your help when John broke his hip last year,” Miriam says, “I never would have been able to keep this place running by myself all those months.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Eliot insists, “I was glad to help.”

“Well you’ll at least have to come and let me feed you for a few days. And John has a new acquisition he can’t wait to show you.”

“Car or horse this time?” Eliot asks, laughing. The man has a tendency to collect beautiful models of both.

“Classic Thunderbird!” John yells out from somewhere in the background. “She’s a beaut!”

“It’s _powder blue_ ” Miriam scoffs, “it’s awful.”

“Don’t listen to her, Eliot” John argues, still from somewhere definitely not close enough to be carrying on a conversation. Not that it’s ever stopped him before.

“I’m sure it’s a sight to see,” Eliot says, diplomatically.

Miriam just laughs.

“We’ll see you this weekend for your friend’s lessons, honey,” she says, “it’s time for us old folks to get to bed.”

“Night, Mimi,” Eliot says, flipping the phone closed when he hears Miriam reply and then click the landline back into its cradle.

.

“

 

 

By the time Eliot has calmed down his amped up nerves, it’s just about ten o’clock and he may or may not be a few shots of whiskey deep. To both his relief and his terror, Hardison picks up after only two rings, sounding wide awake and happy to be taking the call.

“Hey, man” he says, “how’s it going?”

Eliot stammers for a minute, not used to how deep and smooth Hardison’s voice sounds over the phone.

“It’s good,” Eliot says after a long pause that he hopes Hardison doesn’t notices. “You?”

Hardison snickers to himself before answering, and Eliot braces himself for whatever ridiculous and probably ridiculously endearing thing Hardison is going to say next.

“I’ve been looking at cowboy boots on Amazon,” Hardison says. “And hats. There are literally just SO MANY cowboy hats in the world, Eliot. Did you know that?”

“I only have two,” Eliot says faintly, images of Hardison in boots and hat, and nothing else, running rampant through his mind.

“Perfect!” Hardison exclaims, “So I can borrow one?”

Eliot hesitates for a long moment, considering. The only spare hat he has belonged to his daddy, when he was younger than Eliot is now. Daddy’s been gone for years now, but Eliot still doesn’t know if he can bear to pull the hat out of the box in the closet.

“El?” Hardison asks, sounding concerned.

‘Fuck it,’ Eliot thinks. Hardison can wear his hat, Eliot will buy a new one for himself.

“Yes, you can borrow one of my hats” Eliot says, snapping himself out of it. “But you better not ruin it when you fall off the horse.”

“If I fall off the horse, you mean,” Hardison says.

“No,” Eliot says, definitively. “When you fall off.”

“That would make you a terrible teacher, Eliot Spencer!” Hardison exclaims.

Eliot snorts. “Everyone falls a little at first. Don’t worry, I’ll be right there with you.”

“Yeah?” Hardison asks, “you’ll make sure I don’t crack my head open or something?”

“No broken bones on my watch,” Eliot says, “I promise.”

“Great!” Hardison says, sounding pleased. “Now, do you think I should get chaps? Is there a difference between chaps and assless chaps? Which ones do strippers wear? I should probably get the other ones.”

This time Eliot can’t help the groan that comes out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“No.”

“No?” Hardison asks. “To which part?”

“All of it,” Eliot sighs, hoping he just sounds tired and not the so very sexually frustrated that he truly is.

“Fine, fine,” Hardison says. “No chaps. But I am getting some cowboy boots, and you cannot stop me. They will have rhinestones. Just you wait.”

“I’m sure it’ll be a sight to see,” Eliot says, laughing softly. “But for now, this old man needs to get to bed. Someone’s gotta start baking at five, and something tells me you won’t be in my kitchen baking muffins before sunrise.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough,” Hardison agrees. “But I’ll see you soon, right?”

“Saturday,” Eliot confirms. “Meet me here at six, and we’ll drive out to the ranch in my truck, the roads can get kind of dicey for smaller cars.”

“Six _AM_?” Hardison gasps. “Did we not just go over how I do not believe in early mornings?”

“It takes a few hours to get there,” Eliot says, “buck up, you’ll be fine. We’ll get some coffee in you before we head out.”

“You better,” Hardison groans. “Alright, old man, go to bed!”

Eliot just laughs. “Goodnight.”

“’Night, El,” Hardison says, ending the call before Eliot can read too much into the soft and sweet tone in which he said it.

Eliot takes a very long shower before finally hitting the hay, not quite able to get the dopey smile off his face that Hardison left there.

.

.

“So, you’re going on a date with him?” Parker asks as she’s mixing up something dangerous looking with a blender and entire unpeeled tangerines.

“It’s not a date,” Hardison says, sighing. “At least, I don’t think so. Every attempt I make at flirting with him seems to go right over his head.”

“That sounds frustrating,” Parker hums, eyes lighting up in delight as her blender whirrs into a tornado of colors.”

“You have no idea,” Hardison says, sighing again.

“Listen,” Parker says, clicking off the blender to suddenly stare at Hardison with sharp eyes.

“Just go up to him and tell him you like him and want to take him to dinner. Or a movie. Or whatever he wants to do. Just be direct. It’ll work, trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Hardison says, “but it didn’t work with you, what makes you think it’ll work with Eliot?”

“Wait, what?” Parker asks, looking up from the tangerine puree with what Hardison can only describe as wide-eyed wonder.

“I asked you out over a year ago,” Hardison explains. “You were trying out fruit sorbets that week, and I asked you outright if you wanted to go on a date with me, and you just laughed and said that would never work. And then you shoved a spoon in my mouth. As you do.”

“Wait,” Parker says again, uncharacteristically still. “I remember this. _That’s_ what you said? I thought you asked me for a sorbet using dates! The fruit!”

“Why would I want a date sorbet?” Hardison asks.

“Why would you want a date with me?!” Parker counters.

“Because you’re amazing,” Hardison says, grinning, “and beautiful, and smart, and yeah, a little bit crazy. But that’s ok, because I’ve been crazy about you for a year.”

“I hate the English language!” Parker says. “It was exotic fruit week, Alec! You can’t just ask me serious things during exotic fruit week!”

“Noted for the future,” Hardison says, nodding solemnly.

“Future?” Parker asks, once she’s calmed herself down a little.

“I mean, if you wanna give it a try,” Hardison says.

“Obviously,” Parker says, rolling her eyes. “You are the most ridiculous. I just need you to know that.”

“Go out with me?” Hardison asks. “On a date. The experience, not the fruit. Just to be clear.”

“Yes,” Parker says, just as the dun-dun of the door sounds, breaking the heated silence between them.

“Tonight?” Hardison asks, backing away slowly as kids crowd the counter.

“I’ll close up at seven,” Parker says, grinning and waving him off so she can get to work.

“See you then!” Hardison says, before rushing out the door to beat the after-school crowds coming in.

.

.

 

“How are you so good at this?” Hardison cries out.

Parker grins and flicks her wrist in a fluid motions. “Just natural talent, I guess. It’s my first time.”

“There is no way in hell this is your first time!” Hardison protests, “you’re too damn good!”

Parker just cackles as she watches the last of the bowling pins hit the floor. It’s her fourth strike in a row, and she has no intentions of slowing down.

“Afraid to get beaten by a girl?” she teases, sauntering back to the seats and folding herself down onto one of them gracefully.

“Not at all,” Hardison says, “honestly. I just didn’t expect to be demolished SO thoroughly.”

“The night’s still young,” Parker says, nudging his shoulder with hers and giving him a wicked grin. “You could still get lucky.”

“With the game, you mean,” Hardison says, gulping slightly at the predatory look in Parker’s eyes.

“Of course,” Parker says, dimming her smile back down to a slight smirk. “And with sex. Obviously.”

Hardison drops the bowling ball he had just stood up to grab. It misses his foot by an inch and rolls off into the thankfully empty lane beside them.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman!”

“Do you mind?” Parker asks, already slipping her bowling shoes off and changing into her Converse.

Hardison takes a moment to think about his life and his choices, and sends a quick prayer of thanks up to whatever deity has seen fit to give him this blessing of a night.

“Not even a little,” he replies. “Lead the way!”

.

.

It’s six AM on the dot when Hardison slumps through the door of Eliot’s bakery Saturday morning, eyes still mostly closed and pillow marks still etched into his face. Eliot, the bastard, looks bright eyed and bushy tailed. Ugh, Hardison thinks, morning people.

“Here,” Eliot says, shoving an aluminum travel mug into his hands. “Latte, too much sugar, lots of caffeine.”

“Oh god,” Hardison moans in relief and hugs the mug against his chest. “Marry me?”

Eliot sputters out a laugh and turns an interesting shade of red that Hardison will definitely think about later. When he’s awake.

“How about we start with the coffee,” Eliot replies, only a beat or two late. “And muffins.”

“Muffins?” Hardison asks, perking up a little with piqued interest.

“Mhm,” Eliot says, handing Hardison a still warm muffin wrapped in an honest to god cloth napkin.

Hardison takes a bite, senses going temporarily out of whack when he doesn’t taste the blueberry as usual he was expecting.

“This is delicious,” he says once his brain has caught up with his taste buds. “What’s in this? It’s almost like that…”

“You got me thinking,” Eliot replies, cutting him off softly. “You talked about how good that milkshake was you got at the ice cream girl’s shop, how it reminded you of the Christmas oranges. Figured if I was dragging you out of bed at sunrise, I could at least try to make you something delicious.”

“It’s even better as a muffin,” Hardison sighs happily, taking another big bite.

The grin Eliot gives him is enough to make his chest fill with a warmth that Hardison suspects has nothing at all to do with the hot breakfast in his hands.

“Let’s get moving, then,” Eliot says, grabbing his own travel mug and motioning to Hardison to head out in front of him. “I gotta lock up, head out to the truck.”

Hardison does as he’s told, realizing he can’t get into the locked truck only once he’s reached it, so he leans back against it and watches Eliot lock up with sleepy but fond eyes.

Still, he can’t help but tease Eliot a little as he comes over and unlocks the truck.

“I think this thing might be older than me,” he says, climbing in and stretching out his long legs as best he can.

“It’s an ’82 Chevy,” Eliot replies, “she’s a classic.”

“You and I have different definitions of classic,” Hardison laughs, grinning at Eliot playfully.

“Probably true,” Eliot says, nodding once before buckling his seat belt and motioning for Hardison to do the same.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Hardison says. “Ooh, can I man the radio? I haven’t listened to the radio in _years_.”

“Driver picks the music,” Eliot says sternly, resolutely not looking at Hardison once he realizes that he will absolutely understand the reference.

“And shotgun shuts his cakehole!” Hardison exclaims excitedly. “You watch Supernatural? Oh my god, I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard all week! Who’s your favorite? I bet it’s Dean. Oh, or maybe Bobby! How do you feel about Cas?”

“Hardison!” Eliot says, stopping Hardison before he goes on for hours.

“Shutting my cakehole,” Hardison says, taking a long sip from his mug.

“Good,” Eliot says, fiddling with the radio before landing on a classic rock station and pulling onto the road to start the drive.

They drive for a few minutes in companionable silence, Hardison marveling that Eliot managed to find a time in Portland with no traffic to speak of.

“Sam’s my favorite,” Eliot says a few minutes later, offering no explanation and no further information.

“Huh,” Hardison says, humming througtfully. “You never fail to surprise me, Eliot Spencer.”

Eliot just makes a noncommittal noise of what Hardison chooses to believe is agreement.

“Wake me up when there’s horses,” Hardison says, tilting his head back as much as he can and closing his eyes.

“Wait,” Eliot says suddenly, reaching behind his seat blindly while keeping his eyes on the road.

“Here.”

“You didn’t forget!” Hardison exclaims, taking the obviously well-worn but lovingly cared for cowboy hat from Eliot’s hand.

“Course not,” Eliot says. “Go ahead, put it over your eyes to block the sun.”

“I’m this close to being a country song,” Hardison says with delight as he does what he was told.

“What’s missing?” Eliot says, risking a fond glance over to Hardison now that the other man has his eyes covered.

“The dog, obviously,” Hardison says, already yawning.

“Obviously,” Eliot agrees, letting himself have one more glance before focusing on the road again. “Get your sleep, I’ll wake you when there’s horses.”

Hardison doesn’t respond, already fast asleep.

.

.

Eliot thought he was prepared for this, he really did. He’d already had a stern internal talk with his libido, telling it to keep calm even if Hardison’s ass looked phenomenal in those snug Levis Eliot knows Hardison bought just for the occasion. He wasn’t disappointed either, the jeans fit like a dream. He wasn’t prepared for the deceptively thick muscles of Hardison’s arms though, revealed when Hardison got too warm under the Noon sun and stripped down to a perfectly fitted white t-shirt. Or the way he managed to pull off those ridiculous rhinestone cowboy boots, and how damn right he looked wearing Eliot’s hat dipped just barely over his eyes. The worse of it, though, what Eliot was truly and wholeheartedly not prepared for, was how damn _nice_ Hardison was being.

He’d expected the other man to make sarcastic comments the whole time, or maybe look his nose down at the simplistic living of the ranch and Eliot’s friends. But no. The moment they arrived, Hardison was grinning from ear to ear, pointing out the horses and other animals excitedly, and only whining occasionally about how it was all hell on his allergies.

He’d thanked John and Miriam several times already for inviting him into their home, and complimented them on the collage of pictures spanning a whole wall of the living room, earning a pinch on the cheek from Miriam and a hearty clap on the shoulder from John. They’d worked on that collage for years, adding to it little by little over time, until it reflected generations of each side of their family coming together as one. Hardison had quietly explained that he didn’t know anything about his birth parents but had grown up wanting a big family full of the love that was apparent in the pictures. That had earned a strong hug from Miriam, and a somehow even stronger surge of affection for the man through Eliot’s heart.

And now, several hours and thankfully no broken bones in, Hardison was still all smiles and Eliot was in so much trouble.

.

“I don’t think my legs can take anymore,” Hardison says, laughing at himself as the aforementioned legs wobble as he slides down from Rosie for the last time.

“You’ve done a lot,” Eliot agrees, catching Hardison’s elbow so that he doesn’t fall over, leads him to over to the expansive front porch, and eases him down to the stairs before settling down beside him.

“It was so much fun though,” Hardison says, leaning back on his elbows and stretching out his legs in front of him. “Thank you, again. I didn’t think you’d actually agree to teach me.”

“Why’s that?” Eliot asks, mimicking Hardion’s position and leaning back on his own elbows.

Hardison shrugs at first, uncharacteristically quiet.

“You can tell me,” Eliot says gently, nudging Hardison’s shoulder with his own.

“It’s silly,” Hardison says eventually. “I just thought you might be humoring me, and then snickering about the dumb city guy who’d never even seen a horse in real life, never mind rode one.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Eliot says quietly. “Is that how you see me? Some asshole country boy with no respect for anybody else’s way of life?”

“No,” Hardison reassures, looking over at Eliot with earnest eyes. “It was all just my own insecurities in my head. You’ve been awesome. And way more patient than I would have expected from anyone, trying to teach my gangly ass how to not die around a horse.”

Eliot laughs at that, and earns a crooked grin from Hardison in return.

“You weren’t bad at all,” Eliot says, because _you’re perfect and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you_ is probably a little too much too soon.

“Thanks,” Hardison says, before turning away to look up at the last bit of the sun setting.

“It’s beautiful out here,” he says, as the orange of the sky is taken over by the deepest blue seemingly all at once.

“Just wait,” Eliot says, gesturing for Hardison to keep watching.

A few long minutes pass in easy silence, Hardison watching with interest as the night settles in, until the only light around them comes from the dim porch light and the sliver of moon in the sky.

“Wow,” he says suddenly, eyes adjusting to the night as he looks up again.

“This is what I miss the most in the city,” Eliot confesses, smiling softly at Hardison’s expression.

“I never understood why they call it a blanket of stars,” Hardison says, still staring up with awe. “But this…there’s just so many of them, El. I’ve never seen them so bright before!”

“I’ll have to bring you back another weekend,” Eliot says. “You should see it on a full moon.”

“I’d love that,” Hardison says, finally pulling his eyes away from the sky to look back at Eliot and grin.

And Eliot. Well, he’s never considered himself particularly poetic, but he thinks he suddenly understands so many country songs he’s heard over the years. In this moment, under a sky full of twinkling stars, nothing is brighter to him the smile on Hardison’s face and the excitement shining in his eyes.

Maybe Hardison senses the sudden realization in Eliot’s eyes, or maybe he’s feeling as punch-drunk under the sky as Eliot, but when Eliot finally steels himself and takes a deep breath before leaning in, Hardison is already meeting him halfway.

 _Finally_ , Eliot thinks as his eyes flutter closed and his hand reaches out of its own accord to grip Hardison’s shirt. He vaguely registers Hardison threading the fingers of his free hand through Eliot’s hair, cupping his head carefully. It’s an awkward position on the stairs, the wooden steps digging into their ribs where they’ve moved to their sides, but Eliot doesn’t care about a thing in the world other than the fact that Hardison is finally kissing him to within an inch of his life. He’d happily die like this, surrounded by the man he loves, under a sky full of stars, protecting each other against the sharp wind of the night.

.

.

The ride home is less awkward than Eliot expected. Hardison is mostly quiet, spending most of the time alternating between staring out the window and dozing against it. The radio plays low, and Eliot finds himself singing along to a few of the classics softly, so as not to wake Hardison up.

“You’ve got a nice voice,” Hardison says around a yawn as he wakes up from one of his dozes.

Eliot flushes red, he thought Hardison was out cold.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says instead of acknowledging the compliment.

“You didn’t,” Hardison says, turning in his seat to lean against it and watch Eliot as he drives. “It was just a nice thing to wake up to. You have a secret life as a country music star or something? Do you secretly play the saxophone?”

Eliot laughs out loud at that and shakes his head. “I’m not Duke Silver, Hardison.”

Hardison sighs happily. “I love when you understand my references.”

“I do watch TV sometimes,” Eliot teases. “And I don’t play the saxophone, but I can strum a guitar halfway decent.”

“Of course you can,” Hardison laughs kindly, “because you’re great at literally everything.”

Eliot just scoffs.

“It’s ok,” Hardison says, grinning again, “I’m pretty great, too.”

“Yeah?” Eliot asks, perking up at the sudden shift in Hardison’s tone, but trying to appear unaffected.

“Yep,” Hardison confirms. “I’m great at all things tech related, I’m freaking awesome at gift giving, I make a mean steak, and…that’s all I can think of right now, but be assured that I’m awesome!”

“I’m assured,” Eliot says, smirking. “Though that is a mighty short list.”

“There’s more on the list!” Hardison says, eyes lighting up with glee as he replies. “The rest of the list is just more of an… interactive experience. It needs to be shown, not told.”

“So, interpretive dance, then?” Eliot teases, trying very hard to keep his eyes on the road and not on the sure to be hilarious expression on Hardison’s face.

Hardison, however, doesn’t miss a beat.

“Definitely interpretive dance,” he says, pausing just long enough for Eliot to feel safe before continuing. “That, and I have no gag reflex and cannot wait to get my mouth on every part of you.”

“Dammit, Hardison!”

The truck swerves dangerously to the right for a moment before Eliot gets it straightened out.

“You can’t just say things like that to a man when he’s trying to drive! I could have killed us.”

Hardison just laughs, they’d only swerved a foot on an empty road.

“So, that’s a no to road head, then?” he asks, trailing his hand slowly up Eliot’s thigh, stopping just south of his crotch.

Eliot just whines low, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

“We’re almost back” he says after a long _long_ moment. “come home with me?”

“Definitely,” Hardison agrees, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes again. His hand, however, stays firmly on Eliot’s thigh, heating him up even through the thick denim as he drives.

.

.

By the time they get back to Eliot’s place, some of the frantic anticipation has worn off, replaced by nerves the size of Texas settling into Eliot’s stomach like lead.

“Nice place,” Hardison says as Eliot flicks on the light. “It’s cozy.”

“Small, you mean,” Eliot says, kicking off his boots onto the protective mat in the tiny laundry room, gesturing to Hardison to do the same.

“No,” Hardison responds. “I mean, yeah it’s a small place, but it really does look cozy. Nice and lived in, perfect for napping away a Sunday and marathon-ing bad tv shows.”  

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Eliot can’t help but point out.

“Well then we should definitely test my hypothesis,” Hardison says, smiling shyly even as he comes over to Eliot and threads his hands behind Eliot’s neck and tilts his head up for a kiss.

“Definitely,” Eliot agrees once Hardion’s pulled away for the moment. “But for now, how about we order pizza?”

“Good pl…” Hardison starts before stopping suddenly, a look of concern passing across his face.

“What is it?” Eliot asks, not sure what could have happened in the last thirty seconds to put that look on his face.

“Your shop,” Hardison says. “It’s always open on Saturdays. And you’re the only one I ever see working. Did you close your whole shop for a day just to teach me how to ride a horse?”

Eliot shrugs. “It’s no big deal,” he says, “one of the perks of being my own boss, I can make my own hours.”

“Still,” Hardison says, but he’s smiling again, “you didn’t have to lose a whole day of business over me.”

“Worth it,” Eliot says, voice dipping low as he leans up to kiss Hardison again.

“Pizza later?” Hardison asks, hands already reaching for the belt of Eliot’s jeans.

“God, yes,” Eliot says, falling back onto the plush couch when Hardison gives him a little shove of intent.

“I thought you might say that,” Hardison says, grinning as slides to his knees and settles between Eliot’s spread legs, the other man only giving a pleading moan in return.

.

.

When his shop door opens a few days later, Eliot looks up expecting to see Hardison, but instead comes face to face with a pretty blonde wearing a rainbow striped apron. He stares at her uncomprehendingly for a moment before it clicks.

“You’re the owner of the ice cream shop across the street,” Eliot says, trying his best to sound polite instead of accusing.

“Parker,” she says, nodding. She walks up to the counter slowly, graceful in a way that Eliot isn’t expecting from someone who isn’t dancing across a ballet stage.

“I’d like a chocolate chip muffin, please. And a scone for Sophie. She also wants a cup of the French roast from the Keurig she says you keep in the back.”

“Who is this woman?” Eliot asks, “and no offense, but why are you suddenly interested in my shop? You’ve been across the street for over a year now.”

“You’ve never visited me, either,” Parker replies, shrugging. “Sophie is my…benefactor. And maybe my godmother. Or crazy aunt, at least. I’m pretty sure she’s having sex with that squirrelly looking friend of yours. Or is at least planning to.”

“Squirrelly… you mean, Nate?” Eliot asks. “And also, wait, what? They’re sleeping together?”

“Probably,” Parker confirms. “Sophie’s been wearing her black beret a lot recently.”

“So?” Eliot asks, even as he’s bagging up the pastries and getting Sophie’s drink ready.

“She only wears the beret when she hasn’t had time to fix her hair in the morning,” Parker says, sending Eliot an exaggerated wink. “You know, because of all the sex.”

“Jesus,” Eliot says, laughing despite himself.

“It’s so quiet in here,” Parker says, leaning one hip against the counter casually as Eliot rings up her purchases.

“Well, we can’t all have lines out the door every day,” Eliot says, proud of himself for only sounds slightly bitter about it.

“It’s nice,” Parker clarifies. “I like doing my job, and I love having the business, but there’s not much peace or quiet there ever.”

Eliot pauses, not having not really considered that, and cringing at imagining his shop constantly overrun by enthusiastic but loud patrons.

“That’ll be eight bucks,” he says. “Do you want some help across the street? I don’t really have to go cups.” He gestures to the tall glass mug that holds Sophie’s steaming drink.

“I’ll be fine,” Parker says, slipping the bagged pastries into her apron before grabbing the mug carefully by the handle.

She’s almost to the door before she turns back around. “Hey,” she says, offering Eliot a small smile. “You should come visit me sometime, too. Everyone loves at least one flavor of ice cream.”

“Strawberry,” Eliot finds himself telling her, surprising himself and Parker, if the look on her face is any indication.

“Noted,” Parker says, pulling the door open with a flourish and heading out, hair swooshing in a halo around her head for a moment in the surprisingly bright sunny day.

“All the women in this town are so strange,” Eliot says to himself once he’s sure he’s alone. “Beautiful, but strange.”

.  

.

“I don’t know what to do, Nana,” Hardison says, slumping down onto her beaten up couch that’s probably at least twice his age.

Nana takes a deep breath and braces herself for the worst before coming to sit down beside Hardison.

“You knock someone up?” she asks, because she’s always been blunt, and sees no reason to change that now.

“What?!” Hardison exclaims, “no! Why would you think that?!”

“Because you’re acting like the world is ending, boy,” Nana says, raising a judging eyebrow at Hardison. “So unless you need to bury a body, it can’t be that bad. Now, do I need to get my good shovel or what?”

“Nana,” Hardison groans. “Nobody is dead. Or pregnant. I’m just in love with two people and not sure how to keep either one of them without losing them both. It's been a month and I still don't know what to do!”

“Ice cream girl and the pretty boy?” Nana asks.

Hardison sighs.

“Parker and Eliot,” he says. “But yes. Those two.”

“Well,” Nana says after a minute of contemplation. “I’ll give you the advice I’ve given all my boys growing up over the years.”

Hardison turns his head towards her inquisitively, hoping for some good advice.

“Think with your heart, not your penis,” Nana says, reaching out to pat Hardison on the cheek a few times for good measure.

Hardison just slumps further down the couch and groans.

“Please never say penis to me again,” he begs. “Also, you’re no help.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Nana says, “now unless you want to help me wrangle Aaron and Jamal for dinner and bedtime, get out of my apartment.”

Hardison jumps up at that. Last time he tried to help with the kids, he ended up with a black eye and bruised ribs from their horsing around.

“I love you, Nana. Thank you as always for your excellent advice.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me, Alec,” Nana says, shoving him lightly towards the door.

Hardison just kisses her cheek and gets the heck out of dodge before the kids come home.

.

.

“This was a terrible idea,” Hardison says to himself as he’s walking into Eliot’s shop a few weeks later.

“What’s a terrible idea?”

Hardison stifles a groan at the question as he realizes that Parker not only got here early, but that she and Eliot are seated at the back table, apparently deep in conversation about something he can’t parse out.

“You two know each other?” he asks instead of answering the question.

“Kind of,” Eliot answers, shrugging slightly.

“Eliot’s my friend,” Parker supplies, “he just doesn’t know it yet.”

Eliot snorts a laugh at that, sending an amused look to Hardison.

Hardison, however, just feels ill.

“I need to talk to you,” he says, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down across from Eliot and Parker. “Both of you, actually.”

They stare back at him with almost identical expressions of concern, and Hardison feels like the worst piece of scum to ever exist.

“I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to say all this, and I just keep going around and around, because no matter how I say it, it sounds awful. And I feel awful. And I don’t want to hurt you, either of you, but I don’t want to lie to you either.”

“Hardison,” Parker stops him, “what is it?”

Eliot just reaches out and places a comforting hand over Hardison’s where it lies on the table between them. Hardison feels even worse.

“I just,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I really like you both, I think I might be in love with both of you, and I don’t know what to do without hurting one or both of you. And I just really hope you don’t both hate me for this.”

“You’ve been seeing her, too?” Eliot asks, sounding more resigned than angry, which is somehow a million times worse to hear.

“We never said we were together,” Parker shrugs, “we just had sex, like, a bunch of times.”

Eliot’s hand twitches at that, but stays put on Hardison’s for the time being. He’s not sure whether it’s a good sign or not.

“Was it just sex to you?” Hardison asks, not buying her casual indifference, even if it would give him an easy out.

“No,” Parker admits, before looking determinately out the window over Hardison’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, to both of them.

“We never did actually talk about what we were,” Eliot says, and he sounds so hopeful that it chokes Hardison up for a moment.

“It’s obvious that you’re in love with him,” Parker says, turning back to them in a huff and giving Eliot a halfhearted glare.”

Eliot glares right back.

“It’s obvious that _you’re_ in love with him!”

“Why is nobody punching me right now?” Hardison asks, mostly to himself, but it earns a guffaw of amusement from Parker.

“Because we’re in love with you,” she says, sighing, “keep up!”

“Yeah, Hardison,” Eliot drawls, sending him a dark look he remembers from Eliot’s bedroom floor the other night. “Keep up.”

“What exactly is happening here?” Hardison asks, because suddenly nothing makes sense and the matching smirks on Eliot and Parker’s faces are starting to freak him out a little.

“I think we’re gonna keep you,” Parker says, reaching out to cover Hardison’s other hand with one of hers.

“If you’ll have us,” Eliot adds, as if there was any other possible answer Hardison would ever choose.

“What…how…huh?” Hardison asks, intelligently.

“Parker’s been coming in for about a few weeks now,” Eliot explains. “She figured out we were together before long, and she’s been trying to convince me to share since then.”

“Sharing is caring, Eliot,” Parker says resolutely.

“Oh God, you two are friends,” Hardison says, groaning, but allowing himself just a little bit of hope. “So you both knew about each other?”

“Pretty much,” Parker says.

“Little bit,” Eliot agrees.

“Then why did you act so surprised?!” Hardison asks, mostly to Eliot.

“I just needed to hear how you really felt,” Eliot says. “I…being with a man, publically at least, is a big step for me. And I wasn’t about to do it for someone who was only fooling around.”

“Oh, El,” Hardison assures, “it was never just fooling around. I don’t even really like breakfast food that much! I just wanted to see you.”

Eliot grins at him, moving his hand to lace his fingers with Hardison’s and giving them a squeeze.

“You like my ice cream though, right?” Parker asks, staring at him shrewdly.

“Always,” Hardison promises.

Parker smiles and Hardison lets himself breathe again.

“So…now what?” he asks, looking between the two people that he loves.

“Now we close down both our stores for the afternoon and go get a drink,” Eliot says.

“The three of us?” Hardison asks, looking at Parker, who nods in agreement.

“The three of us,” she confirms. “Eliot’s gonna love me too, you’ll see.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hardison says. “I’m really not sure how all of this is going to work, but if you two trust me, I’m all in.”

“I trust you,” Eliot says without hesitation.

“We’re gonna be so great,” Parker says. “Eliot’s going to let me sell some ice cream here sometimes, too.”

“I absolutely never agreed to that,” Eliot says, looking affronted and yet somehow fond.

Hardison knows that particular Parker reaction well.

“I think we’ll be alright,” he says finally, letting go of both of their hands in order to stand up from the table and allowing them to do the same.

“Damn straight,” Eliot says, pressing a quick kiss to Hardison’s jaw.

“Or not straight, so much,” Parker can’t help but add. “Because, you know, all the gay sex.”

Hardison groans in exasperation, but Eliot just laughs out loud despite himself.

Yeah, Hardison thinks, they’re going to be just fine.

.

.

End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Metaphorically. There is no cannibalism in this fic!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanmix for If You Ever Want to Be in Love (I'll Be Around)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960531) by [MorningStar461](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningStar461/pseuds/MorningStar461)




End file.
